


Fly the Nest

by FeoplePeel



Series: Champion's Coffer [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Family Bonding, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Growing Up, Old Married Couple, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5715304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeoplePeel/pseuds/FeoplePeel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>P.S.-I would like to, again, extend this offer: use of our guest quarters to dear Islen. Having expressed an interest First Day past in continuing her education abroad, I can assure both you and her mother that only the finest tutors will be acquired for her. Consider what we have spoken on and your past experience with me to know that no harm will come to her.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Your own,</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet</i>
  <br/>
  <i>(Ruffles)</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fly the Nest

**Author's Note:**

> I was in the mood for HawkexVarric happy family. This was the result. Enjoy <3

Hawke was trying her hand at gardening. Under Merrill’s instruction she did well enough, but the soil behind the Amell estate treated plants poorly and the weather in Kirkwall wasn’t suited for certain flora. The Viscount’s gardens fared better and sometimes she would plant there and move them home after the mean season. She almost felt skilled at tilling, again. It was calming.

Her head turned at the sound of arguing, loud enough to hear.

She could use the calm.

Varric and Islen argued near daily, now. At fifteen, Hawke was prepared for some hostility to crop up from Islen but, if she were being honest, she had expected it to be _herself_ bearing the brunt of their daughter’s temper.

She heard the thud of footsteps down the stairs and the slam of the front door. Predictably, Varric joined her a few minutes later.

“Word from Ruffles.”

Hawke hmm’d at the back of her throat.

“She asked after Islen, again. You know, it’s a shame the woman isn’t up for editing, she has a way with words. She wondered if Islen would, quote, _enjoy the spray of the Antivan sea on her cheek._ ” By his tone, Varric didn’t find the thought enjoyable in the least.

“You don’t think she would?”

“She’s too young to go off on her own.”

“She won’t be on her own, Varric.” Hawke chuckled. “And she’s at the right age to start an outside education.” She wiped a glove over her cheek. “I can’t believe I’m arguing this with you, of all people.”

He kneeled beside her with a grunt. After watching him press at the dirt with no direction, she batted his hands away and pointed to their bench. It sat under the only tree that provided shade in the yard. Islen had never managed to climb it as a child, but she loved being placed there, swinging her legs above their heads.

He stared at her finger dumbly. “Sit and talk. You’re too... _fidgety_ to plant right now.”

Varric grabbed her wrist and tugged off the grubby glove, kissing the tip of her finger before rising to his feet with another grunt.

 _We’re getting old_. Hawke thought, pulling her glove back on.

She had finished repotting a Prophet’s Laurel before Varric spoke from the bench. “How old were you when you left home?”

“Travelled a bit at twenty, came back around twenty three to sign up with King Cailan.” She leaned back on her heels.

“To fight the Blight.” Varric had that familiar glint in his eyes. The one he got when he uncovered a new piece of her story.

“To protect Carver.” She snorted. “Fat lot of good it did him.”

“Batrand and me both stayed home after dad died.” Varric crossed his arms, staring at the branch above his head.

“I know.” Hawke stood. “You took care of your mother.”

“Fat lot of good it did her.” He smirked. “After that I went in with Bartrand, tried my hand at writing, and I haven’t looked back since. I never once left Kirkwall until you fell in with my lot.”

 _Oh but you wanted to, once upon a time._ She didn't say it. Only scoffed. “Until _I_ fell in with _you_? I’ve read the Tales of the Champion, you know. That was some Grade A swindling, I’ll give you that much, but you practically begged me to join your crew!”

He grinned. “Yeah, I guess I did.” The Chantry bells interrupted whatever he was going to say next and he sucked in his cheek as the last bell rang out. “It’s nearly dinner time.”

“Let me look for her.” Hawke pulled off her gloves. “If you find her you’re just as likely to fight again and she’ll never eat.”

“Fair enough.” He laughed. “Let it never be said I drove my teenager to starvation, at least.”

* * *

Hawke found Islen at the entrance to Hightown.

“I was just coming home, I swear.” She started, wide eyed.

Hawke held up her hands. “Calm down, Islen, I believe you.” She sniffed the air. “Maker, you reek of fish. Maybe don’t brood so close to the docks next time?”

She nodded silently and followed Hawke on the familiar path home.

“Varric said Josie wrote?” Hawke let the sentence hang.

Islen didn’t let it sit for long. “She’s ready to host me in Antiva _right now_ if you’ll allow it.” She finally straightened, that familiar anger back, with just a tinge of hurt simmering underneath. “Papa doesn’t understand. He just wants to keep me here forever.”

“Of course he does. It’s boring without you.” Islen crossed her arms. Hawke remembered that stance well. She’d seen it enough on Carver. “He’s just worried.”

“He oughtn’t be! He read the letter! I’ll be with the Divine quite a lot! I’ll have the best protection in Thedas.”

“Arguably.” Hawke bumped her shoulder into Islen’s. “You _do_ know how Cassandra got the job, yes?”

Islen waved a hand. “And even if Cassandra wasn’t there, Kieran said _he_ would go if I would! If Morrigan’s letting him go that has to speak for something.” She turned to her, pleading now. “Please, Mama, please say you’ll speak to him.”

Hawke winced. “You look so much like Bethany when you whine.”

“I’m not whining! I’m begging you!”

“This really means a lot to you.”

“Mama, I will literally get on my knees, if that’s what it takes.”

Hawke sighed. “Come on, I have an idea. Though whether your father loves it or hates it is completely up in the air.”

* * *

“One game of Divine Grace.” Hawke shuffled the deck in her hand twice and held it out for Varric to take. “You win, she stays. I win, she goes.”

“That’s it?” He lifted a brow, cutting the deck.

“Oh yeah.” Hawke added, almost as an afterthought. “No cheating.”

From the corner, Islen scoffed.

* * *

Twenty (boring, in Hawke’s estimation) minutes later, Varric tucked his cards in and laid them flat on the table across from her. “I fold.”

Islen jumped up with a clap. “I’ll go pack my things!” Hawke watched Varric watch their daughter disappear up the stairs before pinning him with a glare. “I know that face. You had me. Why’d you let me win?”

“She really wants to go?” He lifted a shoulder, too casually. “Fine. Let her. Apparently it’s two against one, I’m not going to fight anymore.”

“Well, I’m not arguing with you.” Hawke reached over to peek at his cards. _Damn, he really would have had her_. “Honestly some small part of me was hoping you’d wipe the floor with me.”

“Is that why you were playing such a shit hand?” He stood, pushing in his chair.

“I didn’t say I’d _let_ you win.” She stood, too, watching him carefully. “Look I don’t want her to go either, but she wants to learn things, Varric. She wants to see them, firsthand, like we did. Just because we happened to be in the shit when we saw them doesn’t mean she will be.”

“She’s not supposed to be so...grown, yet.” He whispered.

“It’s sweet, you thinking keeping her here is going to stop that happening.”

“I need to take a walk.” He tapped his toe against the floor. “Think I’ll eat at the Hanged Man. Wanna come?”

“I’m going to help Islen pack.” He stiffened and she bent to kiss his cheek. “I’ll find you later.”

* * *

Islen was folding her shirts and doing a fair job trying not to cry.

“Why,” she took a great gulp, “why is he so mad at me?”

“You want to be a diplomat like Josie?” Islen nodded. “You won't get very far if you can't read your own father.” Islen bit her lip. “All right, come here.” Hawke held her arms open and Islen gifted her with the now rare hug. “You’ve kept quite an attitude with him, you know?”

“I know.” Islen sniffed.

“I don’t like to be between you.”

“I know, Mama.”

“Fix it. Is what I’m saying.” She coughed.

“Yes.” Islen nodded. “Okay, I will.”

“And not in a letter after you’ve left for Antiva. Fix it, _properly._ ”

“I wouldn’t!” To Hawke’s pleasure, Islen looked stricken at the thought of apologizing via written word.

She was going to be an awful diplomat. Which was just perfect for Kirkwall.

* * *

“Papa?”

Varric turned from Corff to stare at Islen. There were certain times where he was left disoriented at her height, how long her hair had grown, how much she looked like her mother. He often turned expecting to see the child he told stories to for years in the Hanged Man before he was forced to give up the suite he kept, for a larger office in the Viscount’s keep, if only to save his aching knees the walk. He had an honorary room, here, but it wasn’t _his_ the way it had once been.

And Islen hadn't been a child for as long as his room here sat empty.

“Your mother send you to fetch me?” Islen shook her head and Varric sighed. “Have you had dinner yet?” Another shake. “Dinner’s shit here, tonight. Let’s go to that stall by the docks.”

Her eyes lit up a little and, by the curl of her lips, she looked to be fighting a smile. The stall was run by a Qunari, one of the few who stayed in Kirkwall after they were allowed their own settlement in the Free Marches, and she loved the dishes he created. Varric loved that he’d finally done something _right_ by her estimation.

* * *

Islen had been watching him closely since they left the Hanged Man and Varric would almost prefer the shouting over the silence that had settled around them. They reached the stall and Islen ordered two of some leaf-wrapped fish medley Varric never would have tried without her pressing.

“I'll come back you know.” She finally said, biting deeply into hers.

“Yes.” He blinked, laughing a little. Even to himself, it sounded hollow. “Obviously, Islen, you’re only fifteen, you can’t just...well, I suppose you could but there are the holidays to think about. And all your things are here.” Varric took a tentative bite of his own dish to keep from speaking. It was disgusting, but not nearly as bad as the stew Corff had served him.

“I meant, after. When I’m done travelling.” She swallowed. “Why would I stay away from Kirkwall? It’s the best!” She laughed as though this did not even need saying.

“It's really,” he shook his head, “subjective”

“It's home.” Islen shrugged, staring into the leaf of her dish as though it held the answers to the universe. “I’ll always come home.”

Varric had, at times in his life, felt his shoulders sag and his stomach unclench. He would have never have stooped so low as to say _a weight had been lifted_. That was for the readers.

Still, as he walked home beside Islen, somehow managing to finish the awful dish she called food, he felt lighter than he had in weeks.


End file.
